


Too Little, Too Late

by alexiel_neesan



Category: DCU
Genre: Disturbing Themes, M/M, Paranormal, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-07
Updated: 2010-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexiel_neesan/pseuds/alexiel_neesan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Jason  is literally out of his head, most of the time. He knows it, Tim knows  it, Dick knows it, everyone who needs to know this knows it.</em></p><p>Please heed the warnings and tags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Little, Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning** : it's half porn, half angst and disturbing things. This also contains implied mental disorder(s) and/or paranormal. Please watch out.

Jason is literally out of his head, most of the time. He knows it, Tim knows it, Dick knows it, everyone who needs to know this knows it. Tim knows Jason hates the good days more than the bad ones, too. Because when Jason is out of his head, he doesn't even know it. He doesn't have to realize he's not here. On the good days he remembers and knows everything.

Tim prefers the good days. Everyone does, really - it's easier to deal with a moving Jason, even if the ghosts still bother him and if he stops in the middle of a sentence to yell at them, even if he can't sleep, even if he hurts himself to focus on the physical world.

Jason is in the kitchen, this morning, his eyes clear, scowling at the sizzling bacon. He doesn't look up. Alfred isn't there, yet. Too early.

 _Good morning_ , Tim wants to say. _You're up early_. "You weren't in your room," he says instead.

Jason hums an answer, not much more. Tim doesn't say _you should have come to me_ , because it was said a thousand times already, and it still failed to make an impact. He joins in the breakfast preparation, instead.

"Jam?" He asks to the cupboard.

"Peanut butter. The crunchy one." Jason's voice growls and creaks, lower than his normal range. He rarely quite sounds like his normal range anymore. Tim can't forget the screams, can't make himself forget them.

Tim nods and gets plates out, slides one by Jason's elbow for the bacon. Then he gets bowls out and go back for cereals and spoons. The plate crashes to the floor, pieces of bacon sliding on the tiles. Jason's knuckles are white on the counter -a feat in itself, he's so pale-, and quickly his hands there on the wood are the only thing keeping him upright.

Tim grabs him, keeps him up and away from the mess and shards of plate, leads him to the windows, on the other side of the room, lowers the two of them to the floor softly. Jason has his hands fisted in Tim's shirt, his breath hurried. He's shivering, his eyes blank, but there's no cloud of white vapor coming out of his lips -a good sign. He is tense against Tim, a bow string ready to snap. .

Tim shifts a little, pets his hair, keeps his other hand on Jason's wrist, counts the erratic heartbeats. _One, two… two hundred and nine, two hundred and ten… one thousand thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…_

"Bomb," finally says Jason. "They don't know who." Tim understands that for what it is –Jason was taken apart by the new ghosts. He's still shivering, but he's leaning into the awkward embrace now. He shifts closer to Tim, tries to pin him -Tim keeps holding him, provides an anchor.

It's a very long while after that, when Tim leads Jason to his room. Dick and Damian and Alfred passed by and let them be. Alfred set the breakfast table for them again.

They don't eat.

Tim makes sure Jason knows he's there, knows the both of them are here. He bites him, licks him, bite again - Jason touches and prods and touches again, draws whimpers from bruises and wounds and stitches. Jason breathes, his heart racing again, the beats strong and steady this time, Tim sliding between his open tights.

Clothes are discarded, their removal another proof of their corporeality. Tim presses the dark bruises on Jason's hips, finds the shape of his hands again, sucks long fingers with torn knuckles. Jason isn't hard enough, yet. Tim is.

They don't talk - they are past that, nowadays. Tim is only here for Jason, and Jason is there to not get lost in his head and in the ghosts. Tim drags blunt nails along sides, traces muscles and bones in red, lower, lower, always lower. Jason lets himself being shoved against the head of the bed, their teeth clicking together. Jay's eyes are open. Tim never knows what he's looking at, if he's even seeing out of them at all in time like this. If he's even seeing the corporeal world out of them anymore. If he's even seeing him.

He tastes blood and wonders whose it is. Tim lifts his hands from Jason's groin just long enough to slip on a condom on his already leaking sex. Jason reacts only by pressing him harder against his body, molding himself against the younger man, closer, closer. Tim slides in - it's not careful, it's not gentle. Neither would have any impact. Jason meets him, urges him further, search the burn and the friction. His head knock against the head of the bed when Tim starts to move in, and in, and in. Tim can only see the long lines of Jay's torso and neck as he starts to jerk him to the rhythm of his thrusts.

The only sound is of breathing and skin against skin. Then the noise of rustled sheets, of tensed muscles as Jason arches and comes between his fingers, a sob in the back of his throat like an absence of sound. Tim tenses and stills against him, comes too. Jason wraps his legs around his waist, keep him trapped close. It's slightly uncomfortable, if not a lot. It's less so when Tim slips out of the hold and throws the condom out. Jason is still on the bed, his eyes seeing something else than the room they are, or maybe not seeing anything. They go back to the actual room fast enough - and Jason gets up, goes into the bathroom, brushing Tim on the way. He leaves the door open.

Tim pauses, watches Jason, a silhouette in the shower. He watches this man who decided to trust him - to trust them. There's nothing when they have sex, nothing more than a tenuous anchor.

Tim will never leave Jason.

Jason is silent and unresponsive the next day. He's not there.

/end  



End file.
